We did not enter the town, but halted at a large venta or posada at the entrance, before which stood an immense ash tree.  We had scarcely housed ourselves when a tremendous storm of rain and wind commenced, accompanied with thunder and lightning, which continued without much interruption for several hours, and the effects of which were visible in our journey of the following day, the streams over which we passed being much swollen, and several trees lying uptorn by the wayside.  Santillana contains four thousand inhabitants, and is six short leagues’ distance from Santander, where we arrived early the next day.

Nothing could exhibit a stronger contrast to the desolate tracts and the half ruined towns through which we had lately passed, than the bustle and activity of Santander, which, though it stands on the confines of the Basque provinces, the stronghold of the Pretender, is almost the only city in Spain which has not suffered by the Carlist wars.  Till the close of the last century it was little better than an obscure fishing town, but it has of late years almost entirely engrossed the commerce of the Spanish transatlantic possessions, especially of the Havannah.  The consequence of which has been, that whilst Santander has rapidly increased in wealth and magnificence, both Coruna and Cadiz have been as rapidly hastening to decay.  At present it possesses a noble quay, on which stands a line of stately edifices, far exceeding in splendour the palaces of the aristocracy at Madrid.  These are built in the French style, and are chiefly occupied by the merchants.  The population of Santander is estimated at sixty thousand souls.

On the day of my arrival I dined at the table d’hote of the principal inn, kept by a Genoese.  The company was very miscellaneous, French, Germans, and Spaniards, all speaking in their respective languages, whilst at the ends of the table, confronting each other, sat two Catalan merchants, one of whom weighed nearly twenty stone, grunting across the board in their harsh dialect.  Long, however, before dinner was concluded, the conversation was entirely engrossed and the attention of all present directed to an individual who sat on one side of the bulky Catalan.  He was a thin man of about the middle height, with a remarkably red face, and something in his eyes which, if not a squint, bore a striking resemblance to it.  He was dressed in a blue military frock, and seemed to take much more pleasure in haranguing than in the fare which was set before him.  He spoke perfectly good Spanish, yet his voice betrayed something of a foreign accent.  For a long time he descanted with immense volubility on war and all its circumstances, freely criticising the conduct of the generals, both Carlists and Christinos, in the present struggle, till at last he exclaimed, “Had I but twenty thousand men allowed me by the government, I would bring the war to a conclusion in six months.”

“Pardon me, Sir,” said a Spaniard who sat at the table, “the curiosity which induces me to request the favour of your distinguished name.”